


six words you never understood

by stupidwithu



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fanfiction, Hurt/Comfort, MCUtopia, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Tumblr Prompt, Vomiting, aka everyone lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:15:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23532910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidwithu/pseuds/stupidwithu
Summary: Peter gets sick for the first time in a long time and nobody seems to believe him.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 407





	six words you never understood

**Author's Note:**

> PROMPT: Could you do one where Peter thinks he's got the stomach flu and tries to tell people at school and at the tower but they all think he's lying to try to get out of tests and training? He ends up getting really sick and hides in his room because nobody wants to be around him since they think he's lying. It ends up being F.R.I.D.A.Y. who convinces Tony the kid isn't faking.

“Hey, Ned,” Peter whispers. “do I— uh, do I feel warm to you?”

The two are seated in the front row of their first period class. Ned is juggling a handful of color-coded Spanish flashcards and taking deep, labored breaths ( _in through your nose, out through your mouth, Ned_ ). Peter leans close to him as he speaks, freeing one of his best friend’s hands from the notes and attempting to bring it to his own forehead.

“Wha—" Ned pulls away just before the contact. “What are you doing, man?”

“I feel weird,” Peter mumbles through a tight jaw. It’s a bit of an understatement, but he really isn’t sure how else to phrase it. This morning, he _felt weird_ ; now, he’s got an unsettling ache in his limbs and the daunting taste of breakfast lingering beneath his tongue.

Ned looks confused - almost worried - for a second before his expression changes. “Oh, hell no… Peter, you are not leaving me here to do this presentation alone!”

“I- What?” Peter glances at the mess of rainbow cardstock, then back to his friend, exasperated. “I won’t, but-”

“You look fine to me.”

“I _feel_ _sick_ , Ned.” As if on cue, a sickly burp rises in Peter’s throat. He lets out a quiet gasp, pressing a fist to his lips to stifle it. Ned doesn’t seem to buy it, though, and Peter can’t really blame him. He felt the same way this morning: _Oh, this kind of stuff still happens._

“¿Estás nervoso?”

“Nervioso,” Peter corrects. “But, no—"

“See? Nothing to be worried about!” Ned exclaims, cheerful and borderline obnoxious. His eyes widen suddenly, and he picks up a neon green index card between his fingers. He flips it back and forth, then, “Me, on the other hand…”

“Leeds? Parker?” A stern, clear voice rouses Ned from his pre-hysteria. “¿Estás listo?”

“Oh, God.”

* * *

It’s a miracle they make it through the four-minute presentation. Ned was surprisingly quick to get his stuttering under control, and once he did, Peter found it easy to hide behind his enthusiastic explanations and the flashy PowerPoint the duo had put together the week prior. They ended up getting a B (Ned isn’t that great at Spanish and Peter wasn’t much help), but the two were content with that, all things considered. Peter’s luck, unfortunately, was short-lived.

He extends a trembling hand to flush the toilet, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater as an extremely agitated “C’mon, man!” erupts from outside the stall. Peter hauls himself into a standing position with the help of some superhuman strength and a grip on the empty toilet paper dispenser, mumbling a quiet “sorry,” as he stumbles into the bathroom’s common area.

Stopping at the sinks on his way out, Peter watches the cold water pool into his cupped hands with a dazed expression. When he remembers, he splashes his face with it, taking a second handful into his sour mouth and sloshing it around. He spits it out and grimaces.

Peter had spent the remaining two periods before lunch slipping in and out of not-so-subtle naps and texting Ned beneath his desk to try and keep himself sane. He’d completely given up on him by the third _but, you’re spider-man_ text though. The worse he feels, the less he cares to convince Ned there’s something wrong. He obviously isn’t getting it, and Peter no longer has the energy to argue.

As soon as he takes his first wobbly step out of the overcrowded boy’s bathroom, Peter bumps – quite literally – into MJ, who remains firm after the collision, grasping Peter’s forearm with both hands to steady him.

“Holy shit, Peter.”

“I. uh-” Peter sighs, running a hand over his face. He no longer needs confirmation on the fever; he can feel it radiating off his own skin. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “I was looking for you anyway.”

Peter glances up at her. He can’t read anything from her expression, so he just lets her finish.

“Happy’s here.”

“What?” Peter takes a few minutes to process the sentence. First, he’s caught off guard by the fact that MJ knows Happy by name, but this bewilderment is quickly overcome by _wait, Happy’s here?_

“What?” He repeats, but it’s no longer directed at her. He pulls his phone from his pocket, scanning over the multitude of notifications littering his lock screen.

 **Happy :)** : I’m outside.

 **Happy :)** : Peter.

 **Happy :)** : Do I need to sign you out?

 **Happy :)** : PETER

 **Happy :)** : If I have to get off this car…

6 missed calls from **Happy :)**

Peter blinks, the light intensifying a headache he hadn’t really noticed until now. He locks the phone, shoving it back into his pants and dashing past MJ with whatever speed he can muster. He catches her shoulder with his backpack.

“Sorry!” he shouts through gritted teeth; at the same time, she calls out “Peter!”

He skids to a stop, turning clumsily to face her.

“Take it easy, okay?”

Peter nods, continuing his race to the Student Pick-Up area. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his heated cheeks as he runs. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was worried.

* * *

“You… forgot…”

“Happy, I’m _so_ sorry.” Peter pants. He’s outside the black sports car now, doubled over with his hands on his knees, panting at the road beneath his feet. It seems to sway under his weight, so he closes his eyes to regain balance. “I’ve just- I’m kinda sick, and—”

Happy raises a finger to his lips to silence Peter. _It seems like everyone’s doing that today._ He unlocks the car and grumbles, “Get in. If Tony asks, we stopped to get gas.”

Peter takes the invitation gratefully, sliding lazily into the backseat. His book-bag lands on the car floor with a thud, and his aching body collapses onto the seat with a similar weight. Happy’s words don’t really sink in until they’ve been driving for a few minutes. 

“Wait, why are we lying to Mr. Stark?”

“Let’s just say it’s not one of his best days.”

Peter snakes an arm around his abdomen, pressing his face against the car window with a deep sigh. “That makes two of us.”

* * *

“Mr. Stark,” Peter swallows.

In the five-minute walk from the parking lot to Mr. Stark on the compound’s first floor, Peter’s condition has completely tanked. The headache he’s been has now evolved into a sharp stabbing behind his eyes, making him dizzy and _unbelievably nauseous_. The reasonable part of Peter’s sick brain can tell he still has a fever, but most of him is just focused on how _cold_ he is, the hair on the back of his neck and arms standing with chills.

“I don’t feel so good.”

Tony shoots the kid a glare, and he immediately retracts his choice of words. “Sorry.”

They’re standing just behind the large glass doors that lead to the biggest open grass in the compound. _They always train here when there’s a large group_ , Tony had said. _It’s been a while_ , he’d also said. He wasn’t sure they’d ever train like this again. Peter wants to smile at the irony as he watches Captain America tighten the straps of his shield around his arm, still in otherwise-regular clothes. Peter would be ecstatic if he didn’t feel so awful. Tony taps the glass to point at where Thor is standing. He’s not really doing anything, just looking around.

“You ready for that?”

Peter almost gasps. Eagerness sprouts in the pit of his stomach, bubbling up his throat at the idea. Training with the God of Thunder! Officially meeting Thor? Peter’s almost lost in his fantasy before the butterflies make him feel sick again. “Uh oh.”

“C’mon kid,” Tony smiles, patting Peter’s back. The force of it makes Peter cough, but he muffles it into his sleeve. “There’s no reason to be nervous. He’s _only_ a God.”

Peter gulps.

“Pete,” Tony laughs, turning to face him. “I’m just kidding. It’s only sparring.”

“No, I— I know.” Peter hiccups. “I just really don’t think I’m up to this…”

Tony looks confused – and a little annoyed, Peter notices.

“Why not?”

“I’m sick.” Peter says, feeling small.

Tony gives him a weird look. “You’re… sick?”

“I know, apparently-”

“Are you trying to play hooky, _Spider-Man_?”

“Mr. Stark, no, I- I wouldn’t,” Peter trips over his words. He knows he’s not in the wrong here, but something about Tony’s tone makes him nervous.

“Bold choice,” Tony continues. “considering you’ve never hesitated to fight impaired before. Like that time… what was it? The time you let me _annihilate you_ in a three-hour training session without telling me your wrist was broken. In two places, Peter.”

“Okay,” Peter breaths. “That was dumb, but this is-”

“What? It’s not the same?”

Peter feels like he must have missed something. There’s a hint of venom behind Tony’s words now, an anger that’s only really been directed at him once before. Peter shakes his head and sharp pain pierces through his temples. He’s definitely not understanding. “Mr. Stark—"

“Right,” Tony interrupts, again. “because that’s the God of Thunder out there and I’m just _Mr. Stark_.”

“Please…”

“No, it’s okay.” Tony pauses. He’s not looking at Peter. “You know what? You’re right. You’re not ready for this. Go upstairs. I’ll have Happy take you home in a few hours.”

“Tony—" Peter clamps a hand over his mouth, eyes watering as he gags into it. He looks to his mentor for help, but he’s already halfway out the automated glass door.

Peter closes his eyes in a desperate attempt to feel steady. _Kitchen_ , he remembers, he’s close to it. He runs – now with both hands caging his mouth – to where he thinks it might be, arriving just in time to heave into the sink. The remains of his breakfast spray past his fingers and soak the previously pristine metal.

“ _Mr. Parker, do you require assistance?_ ”

* * *

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice begins to echo just as Tony sends a final blast from his gauntlet straight into Steve’s – _Sam’s?_ He isn’t entirely sure – shield. It ricochets, but he ducks just in time.

“ _Boss, may I interrupt?_ ”

“You already have, FRI,” Tony spits. Steve nods in his direction, undoing his arm straps and tossing the Vibranium to the side in two swift movements.

“ _Peter Parker is in distress_.”

At this, training halts. Natasha makes a T-shape with her arms and the remaining Avengers fall in line, each taking the time to collect themselves as they listen.

“He having a nightmare or something? Wake him up for me, I’m a little busy.” Tony immediately resorts back to a fighting stance, but it falls flat when Steve doesn’t join him. They’ve been at this for a while, he notices.

“Tony?” Steve tries.

“ _Mr. Parker is displaying a temperature reading of approximately 103.9 degrees Fahrenheit and has been vomiting, on and off, for the past four hours._ ”

“What the _fuck_?”

“ _I had been advised not to bring this to your attention, at Mr. Parker’s request. However, he has since lost consciousness and his two degree rise in temperature has led me to override his decision as per protocol. How would you like to proceed?_ ”

Tony takes a shaky breath. He’d been stressed, hyper-fixated on this training session as the first Avengers group activity since… It would be Steve’s last – he made that clear – but Tony begged him to come. Peter wanted him there. Peter. _How could he not have seen this?_

Tony doesn’t realize he’s panicking until Steve’s hand is on his shoulder. He doesn’t notice the hyperventilating either until he has to carry the weight of Captain America’s arm with each hitch.

“Tony,” Steve says again, softer.

“I fucked up.”

“I can get him. It’s okay.”

“No, no,” Tony takes a final deep breath, stabilizing himself. His bare hand shoots up to push at Steve’s chest, as if he possessed half the force necessary to hold him back. “Not your kid.”

* * *

The sight Tony finds in the downstairs bathroom makes his chest feel tight. Peter’s slouched over the toilet seat. His face resting on the porcelain – which is so, _so gross_ – and his eyes are closed. His breaths are labored; Tony can tell by the way his back arches and trembles. The kid’s out cold, but his face is twisted in a look of pain and his now-limp hands are still white-knuckled from previous exertion.

Tony takes a few small steps forward, kneeling carefully to get closer to the boy’s level. He sighs, reaching up to run a hand through the mess of damp curls plastered to Peter’s forehead.

“Rise and shine, Underoos.”

The second he wakes, Peter is immediately gagging. Tony lifts him back over the toilet seat when he falls, though nothing comes up but water and bile. The poor kid continues to heave after everything’s gone, spluttering and choking on his own breath.

“Hey, hey, that’s enough,” Tony soothes, dropping into a sitting position so he can pull Peter close to his chest. “There’s nothing left, kid.”

It takes a few minutes, but Peter eventually falls into a semi-even breathing pattern. When Tony briefly wonders if he’s sleeping, Peter takes a handful of fabric from Tony’s shirt into his fist, pulling him closer.

“Listen, Pete,” Tony tries, unsteady. He would’ve thought he’d be a little more prepared for this after five years with Morgan, but his relationship with Peter now seems more fragile than ever. “I’m really sorry. I should’ve listened.”

“Shh, Mr. St’rk,” Peter slurs through layers of congestion. With a finger to his lips, he motions to his sensitive ears. “S’okay.”

“You’re here now,” he says after some time, and Tony watches him close his eyes.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, sadly. “I’m here.”

**Author's Note:**

> okay HI I feel like I should... introduce myself? idk that's not what y'all are here for but I just wanna say that I'm VERY unfamiliar with this site so if I'm doing something stupid or the formatting's ugly pls lmk
> 
> also u can find me @ stupidwithu on Tumblr as well but it's all the same stuff


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